50thirdand3rd

Great Song, I Think

If you like that New York City rocknroll, I present the following. I wrote this song and recorded it in my basement and at the Blasting Room, a fantastic studio in Fort Collins, CO, owned by, essentially, The Descendents. Bill Stevenson of that band (and Black Flag) played drums. Bill is younger than I am but he loves the New York Dolls as much as I do.

Here’s the thing: when I first heard the Dolls I said THIS is the sound I have in my head. Every band I ever played in, people said “You sound like the Dolls.” You can’t pay me a higher compliment, though some people who said it did not intend a compliment.

Fuck them, then and now. The culture celebrates the Dolls now as they never did then, but very people ever grasped their MUSICAL significance. Very few bands ever developed that sound. In fact, the Dolls themselves were developing a sound, the sound that came from two Rolling Stones songs: “19th Nervous Breakdown” and “Have You Seen Your Mother, Etc.” That’s their base, and mine.

And I don’t sound exactly like the Dolls anyway. It’s the spirit that counts.

Rocknroll songs should be about what’s going on now. So a few years ago, out of the blue, I had a heart attack. They fixed me up pretty fast but I sure felt like it coulda been curtains for Gene. (If you ever realize you’re having one, get to a hospital fast.) So now I have to stare my mortality right in the face: my time ain’t long.

So I figured the world needs a new song about death. Not another one you say – but I mean about death without romanticizing it or sentimentalizing it. We need a What The Fuck song about death. So here it is. I hope you love it. Play LOUD.

 

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Gene McCaffrey

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